


whispers encased in cotton

by honeyteeth



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Sleepovers, Tenderness, also snufkin has a tail! creacher rights., but it isnt a cat tail it's just... yknow. a little beastie tail, explicit hand holding, general snuggling, i see snuf more as a little raccoon or possum or some other stinky little animal rather than a cat, no beta! i opened this can of worms and im going to die in it, snufkin is secretly clingy and moomin Does Not Mind, soft stuff....., stormy nights..... cold outside... warm inside ...., tove jansson gave me rights that is all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyteeth/pseuds/honeyteeth
Summary: A simple invitation for afternoon tea turns into an abrupt sleepover when an awfully nasty storm tears through Moominvalley, bringing forth clashes of thunder and bright streaks of lightning. Normally, Snufkin would feel trapped if he were to be inside the same room for too long, however, this, he does not mind.





	whispers encased in cotton

**Author's Note:**

> ok fine i caved

“Tea?” Snufkin arches his arm back, tossing it forward and letting the line fly loose, the bobber landing in the clear, slow-moving stream with a soft  _ plunk.  _ It was one of those lazy April afternoons-- warm sunshine filtering down through cotton-candy clouds, fresh blossoms filling the air with a beautifully light scent, sweetgrass and clover growing plentiful and thick. 

“...and strawberry jam, and bread, and biscuits, yes,” Moomin, who was lying on his back beside the Mumrik, finished for him. Leisurely, he propped himself up on one elbow and plucked the wide-brimmed green hat off of Snufkin’s head with the type of care one would expect when holding something fabulously lavish and expensive. He lay back down, white fur shifting in the slight breeze, placing the object over his face. Snufkin couldn’t help his gaze as it drifted over towards his best friend, warmth seeping into his cheeks. Anybody else messing with his most valued possession would face some sort of frustration or annoyance from Snufkin. Moomin, however-- well, from him, this behavior was welcomed and encouraged. The Mumrik’s tail flicked, scooting closer to the tubby white troll’s own from where it sat peacefully near a spray of Queen Anne’s Lace. “won’t you please come?” Moomintroll rolls over onto his side, peeking out from under the leaf-green brim with his big baby blues, round and wide as dinner plates, staring up at his friend. 

His  _ best  _ friend, thank you very much. 

Suppressing as much fondness as physically possible in his voice, Snufkin replied with a simple “Yes, of course, my friend.” and then Moomin’s face broke out into sunshine and dewdrops and everything oh so wonderful and warm in the world. 

“Oh, splendid! See, I know if you would’ve said no-- which I understand, you need your space-- I would have just asked Snorkmaiden, but  _ goodness  _ I wanted so deeply to spend time with  _ you,  _ Snufkin!” His tiny voice bubbled over, and his whole body seemed to emit warmth and pure, raw, untamed joy. Snufkin’s eyes widened slightly, cheeks dusting over pink, and he quickly took his hat from the grass beside his cheerful friend. He acted as though he were finished fishing, putting the rod down and laying down, placing the hat firmly over his face. To Moomintroll, it would look like he was just resting, but the truth? Well, he was trying to cover the furiously increasing blush burning into his cheeks and nose and ears. 

Did he really have such a wonderful effect on the troll? Oh, if only the remarkable little Moomin knew what he did to Snufkin. If only he realized just how light and beautiful he made the Mumrik’s heart feel. Lord.

“Th--that’s good to hear, my friend,” he managed to peep out from underneath the brim of his well-worn hat. Moomintroll only hummed in reply, content. Shuffling could be heard as he stood up, more shuffling as he brushed bits of grass and dirt from the back of his legs and side. Light flooded Snufkin’s vision as his hat, once more, was plucked sweetly from his head and instead placed onto the troll’s.

“Well?” Moomin smiled affectionately, reaching down with a silk-soft paw to help a very smitten Mumrik to his feet. “Shall we?” He hadn’t let go of Snufkin’s paw. 

“I suppose we shall.” 

The two walked, paw in paw, back towards Snufkin’s tent so that he could drop off his fishing rod and pail. Moomin watched comfortably on one of the logs near the tent as Snufkin packed up for the day, making sure that his few possessions were neatly tucked away from prying eyes and grabby hands. Upon finishing, he stretched and cast a look towards Moomintroll, who wasted no time at all rejoining their paws and strolling across the bridge they had been on so many times before. Neither said a word on their way back to Moominhouse, the sun spilling out over them from a cloud, wrapping them in molten gold and making them both quite lethargic. A nice, hot cup of tea and a nap with Moomintroll on one of the many rolling hills of the valley was just what Snufkin needed to relax his bones and ease all of his troubles… 

The goosebumps that had erected on his arm slowly smoothed over when he felt his friend’s paw slide from his own and open the door to Moominhouse. The Mumrik was a little bit saddened to have the warmth leave but was immediately content when he caught sight of Moominmamma, bustling around with a kettle and a jar of strawberry jam. 

“Oh, Snufkin!” She called from over her shoulder, setting the kettle on the old rusted stove and the jam on the kitchen counter, padding over with soft tubby legs and wiping her work-worn paws on her red and white apron. She smiled sweetly, patting him on the cheek as she walked past. “I’m very glad you could make it today, sweetheart. Moominpappa and I are out for the day, and we’d hate to have Moomintroll in the house by himself.” She flashed a grin at her son’s embarrassment. “He does get rather lonely, you know.” 

Snufkin laughed when the tips of his friend’s ears glowed pink as he hurriedly dragged the Vagabond into the kitchen, where they spotted Moominpappa near a pile little jars of pickled things and bread and condiments and a small basket.

“Hullo, Snufkin, lovely day.” He greeted absently, rolling up a checkered blanket and placing it at the very bottom of the basket. 

“It is. Picknicking with Mamma today?” 

“Yes. It was so beautiful out and the air was just… so full of….  _ adventure,”  _ he began, turning on his heel and making a grandiose gesture with his rather short arms. “so I turned to my dear wife and said ‘Darling! My love, today is the perfect day to rough it, to trek in the wilderness and go back to our very  _ roots _ of surviving!’” Another gesture, accompanied by a little spin. Snufkin gazed out over the rather neatly prepared picnic, complete with silverware, plates, and glasses. 

“A perfect day to rough  it, eh?” He arched an eyebrow, and Moomintroll stifled a giggle from where he was over by the table, placing down two delicate, porcelain teacups, with little rosebud designs painted with care onto the glass. 

“...Well, she insisted that we go at least a  _ little  _ prepared. Told me it would be more enjoyable.” He replied, embarrassed, brow furrowing. Snufkin giggled, shaking his head and rummaging about the familiar cabinet where he knew the family kept his favorite tea. Moomintroll himself made sure that they constantly had a honeybush blend specifically for the Mumrik. How the troll had remembered that this type of tea was Snufkin’s absolute favorite would never cease to amaze him, as it had only been mentioned as an offhand comment during a rather insignificant conversation many, many springs ago when Snufkin had first arrived in the valley.

“Pappa, dearest, are you ready to go?” Moominmamma poked her head into the kitchen, devoid of her apron, which was now hanging neatly on the coatrack. 

“Yes, my sweet!” A very devoted and, after all of these years, still very in affectionate and in love Moominpappa stumbled over himself with the basket grasped in his paw. “Well! Snufkin, it was a joy seeing you. Moomin, please make sure that the house doesn’t burn down while we’re gone,” he teased. 

“Yes, of course,” Moomin smiled, hopping onto the counter as he waited for the kettle to begin to boil. 

“Have a good time, then,” Snufkin nodded politely as the two walked, arms linked, out of Moominhouse. The front door closed behind them with an audible  _ click,  _ and the boys were left to themselves. Despite his best efforts, Snufkin couldn’t keep the swarm of butterflies that fluttered excitedly in his stomach at bay. A whole day alone with Moomintroll, just the two of them. Talking and laughing and playing board games and eating jam on soft bread. Could anything be more perfect? 

 

The tea didn’t take long at all to prepare, and before he knew it, Snufkin was halfway through his cup, body warmed from the liquid and feeling rather sleepy. He thought back to his ideal nap with the troll once more, allowing himself to dip a toe into fantasy before pulling himself into reality once more. He and Moomintroll had moved their little miniature tea party out to the patio, sitting side by side on the front steps, leaning against one another drowsily. The clouds overhead swelled bigger than they had been an hour ago, starting to turn darker by the minute. 

“Snufkin,” Moomintroll’s quiet voice hummed from where he sat, teacup held carefully in his white paws. 

“Yes?”

“You don’t suppose it will rain today, do you?” There was a nervous edge to his voice like something was on his mind but he just didn’t want to say it aloud. The Mumrik recognized this tone all too well: something was bothering his friend. 

“Mmm... Perhaps. The clouds  _ are  _ looking a little shifty.” His voice, per usual, was lackluster and soft. He wasn’t too worried about the rain. If push came to shove, he’d just hide out in his tent, or find a nice cave to shelter in. He had done it before, and he’d do it again; it didn’t bother him that much at all. “I wouldn’t be too worried, it doesn’t look bad at all.” He smiled reassuringly at his friend, only to have the hairs on the back of his neck jolt up when Moomintroll returned that smile, soft and sweet on his mouth and glimmering in his eyes. 

“You’re right. I’m sure we’ll be okay.” 

Snufkin hummed in response, draining the rest of his tea in a single swig and allowing his shoulders to slacken underneath Moomintroll’s weight, letting the little beast know that he felt safe, felt comfortable, felt okay in his presence. Perhaps, he hoped to convey, even more, hoped that this simple gesture would click in his dear friend’s mind as an invitation to get closer, to reach out and touch him. Maybe he’d connect even more puzzle pieces and the body language would let him know of Snufkin’s deep-rooted feelings for him, the unspoken love, the desire for affection.

However, the Moomin never was one to overthink, and seeing as how physical affection was his nature, most likely saw this as a simple friendly gesture. That was okay, though, Snufkin thought. Maybe it wasn’t  _ enough,  _ maybe the Mumrik yearned for  _ so much more _ , but just being friends was alright. He convinced himself that this longing was foolish and would pass, but that wasn’t so easy to believe when his very heart seemed to leap to his throat as Moomintroll gently slid his arm around Snufkin’s, linking the two and relaxing once the gesture was over. His head was resting all comfortable and close, buried between the nook of the Mumrik’s jawline and neck. He smelled sweet, like fresh blossoms and honey and the creek that ran under the old bridge. It was quite the difference to Snufkin’s own scent-- coffee and dirt and moss-- and the Mumrik often found himself a little embarrassed at his rugged nature. His skin was tougher, old scars lining his back or knee or arms from when he’d get hurt on his travels, hair quite unkempt and tail raggedy and matte. He had sharp claws and fangs, similar to those of a raccoon-- he even had the dark circles under his dark eyes to act as the mask. Moomin, however, was nothing like that. While Snufkin was all sharp edges and roughness, the troll was soft and rounded out wonderfully, eyes baby blue and fur well cared for, soft and warm to the touch. His ears were velvety soft, tail equally so, and body quite cushy and comfortable. His paws were warm and nice to hold, and even his claws were kept filed and out of the way. By comparison, he was everything Snufkin wasn’t, and everything he longed for. 

For a few moments, there was silence between them, Moomintroll’s head on Snufkin’s shoulder, and Snufkin’s head resting on the troll’s. They fit like two puzzle pieces, clicked into place with no force, no stress. Their relaxed states, however, were quickly thrown out of wack when thunder rumbled dangerously overhead. The clouds had gathered quite quickly, almost entirely blocking out the sun, and a single droplet of rain plunked with a splash onto the Moomin’s soft white snout. 

“Maybe,” the beast in question began slowly, getting up off of Snufkin’s shoulder and standing up, offering a paw to his friend. “it would be best if we got inside now,” the Mumrik nodded and used his friend as a crutch to stand, looking out over the angrily swirling clouds and electricity in the sky. 

“I wonder if it’ll be worse than we thought,” Snufkin thought aloud, talking mostly to himself. Suddenly, a soft tug on his scarf brought him face to face with the little troll. 

“Oh, please don’t leave, Snufkin. It’d be terrible if you got caught in the rain. Even in your tent, you wouldn’t be very safe, you could catch cold or get wet or--” 

“Don’t worry, my dove, I’m not going anywhere.” Snufkin comforted gently, placing his paws over Moomintroll’s. It took him a moment to realize that the nickname had slipped from his mouth, and he wanted desperately to turn back time. If anything, he could rip himself away and find a nice rock to crawl under, or jump into the river to float to the ocean and never be seen again. Much to his relief, however, his friend either didn’t mind or didn’t notice, because he only smiled and intertwined their paws, leading him inside of Moominhouse where it was, evidently, much warmer and cozier.

The front door clicked shut, and a gust of wind immediately shook the house, accompanied by a bash of terrible thunder. Moomintroll practically jumped out of his fur, whipping around with a yelp. 

“Good thing we went in before… That,” he chuckled nervously, not relinquishing his grip. “I hope Mamma and Pappa are alright. This is quite a nasty storm.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Snufkin reassured. “there are plenty of caves in Moominvalley for them to hide. They’re very resourceful, anyway, and I bet they’re even  _ enjoying  _ themselves. Didn’t Moominpappa say he wanted adventure?” 

“That’s a very good point. I guess I’m not too worried.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Snufkin, as much as he didn’t want to, had to gently pry Moomintroll off so he could take their teacups and begin to wash them. It only took a moment, and it really wasn’t any skin off his nose. He’d do anything to help, he hated feeling like a burden. Upon finishing, he delicately placed the damp porcelain on the drying rack and wiped his paws on his coat, turning on heel and making eye contact with Moomintroll, who was perched atop the table, swinging his legs absentmindedly. He smiled at Snufkin, who was physically unable to resist smiling right back. The moment was short-lived, however, when a gargantuan crash of thunder shook the entire house, bringing with it a sudden downpour of rain. It pelted the windows and roof and battered the shingles, causing a certain jumpy Moomin to leap off the table and cry out in fear.

“Well, that was sudden! And quite rude,” he stammered, tensing up. 

“Are you really that afraid of thunder?” Snufkin asked softly, stepping closer. 

“Well... N-no, of course not.” Doubt. 

“It’s alright to be scared, you know.” 

“Yes, I know that, Snufkin! But I’m  _ not,  _ that’s the thing,” Moomintroll huffed and crossed his arms, ears tinted pink as they lay flat on his head. The Mumrik only giggled softly. 

“If it helps, I’m a bit frightened myself,” he offered, stepping forward and placing a paw on Moomin’s shoulder. “I’ve never been a fan of thunder, especially like this.” This statement earned him a weak smile, that was almost instantly replaced with a look of terror as another crash reverberated off of the land and shook the very earth. Snufkin failed to stifle a giggle that bubbled up from his chest, earning a look of disdain from his friend, which only caused him to chortle more.

The afternoon went by with much giggling and chatting, and at some point, a game of checkers. After losing for the third time in a row, Moomintroll declared the game rigged and scooted out of his chair to make them both a cup of cocoa. It was much better than the solid food he made, all thick and rich and topped generously with leftover whipped cream found in the icebox and marshmallows from the pantry. 

The two sat side by side on the couch, sharing a blanket, listening to the staticky old radio play soft jazzy tunes and sipping on the remnants of still-hot cocoa. The storm still raged on outside, howling wind causing the house to creak with protest. However, no matter how hard the wind shrieked or how much the house groaned or how hard the rain pummeled the little blue shingles, both of the friends knew they were safe. Not just because the foundation of Moominhouse was strong, or because the door was bolted fast and windows solid, but because they were together. Snuggled up on the couch, warm from the blanket and the closeness and the drink, arms pressing together and eyelids heavy with comfort. The thunder didn’t seem to bother either of them anymore. 

It was strange, Snufkin thought, how ironic his experience at Moominvalley was. He started off absolutely despising company, doing anything in his power to keep far away from others, shutting himself off from the world. He spent his days cooped up in his tent, refusing to interact with anyone, refusing to make a single friend. He had promised himself that for the rest of his days, he would remain a lone wolf, not needing anybody to look after or to look after him. Basic survival.

Until, of course, he met Moomintroll. 

The wonderful little creature had asked his name first (he replied very reluctantly) then decided from there on out, the two would be best friends. He’d constantly check up on the antisocial Mumrik, sometimes even bringing him little gifts like seashells or pretty rocks he found during a stroll on the Lonely Mountain. Eventually, he managed to coax Snufkin out of both his tent and shell, being excited and bubbly and affectionate while, at the same time, respecting the Vagabond’s space and personal needs. By the third spring, when Snufkin had returned to Moominvalley, their friendship was set in stone, and he would often find himself pining for his newfound best friend. Strange, really, how in just the span of a few years, the troll managed to make Snufkin more comfortable around others than anybody else had in his entire life. What a remarkable creature. 

Of course, friendship soon melted into something else, something a little more sensitive, something Snufkin was reluctant to call love until that previous summer. These foreign emotions were exciting, yes, but they also felt like several mortal stab wounds from many knives of varying sizes being repeatedly jammed into the Mumrik’s chest.

The pain from the crush had died down as time wore on, but those feelings were certainly still there, warm and buzzing like honeybees had swarmed Snufkin’s ribs. They could be nice at times, but they also ached rather painfully. 

Night made her appearance, though it was hard to tell, as it was still storming quite heavily outside. The thunder hadn’t relinquished in the slightest, which threw Moomintroll for a loop, and with each sudden explosion, he’d cling tight to Snufkin, burying his snout into the wooly yellow scarf, whimpering about how he  _ wasn’t  _ scared, just a little surprised. Yes, that was all. Startled, not frightened, he’d whisper softly into the Mumrik’s clothes, trying to convince both of them of the validity of his statement. However, a particular symphony of the element mercilessly slammed into the earth, causing the little white troll to let out a cry of terror, which he quickly stifled by clapping two tremoring paws over his mouth. 

“Would you like to head off to bed, Moomintroll? The covers seem awful cozy,” Snufkin coaxed the trembling white digits from a quivering frown, intertwining them with his own and smiling as sweetly as he could, though that was never difficult around his little friend. 

“Yes, please,” The Moomin replied, looking down, embarrassed, beginning to shuffle towards the steps of the staircase. 

“Little My is with Mymble, correct?” Snufkin asked, trying to get his beloved pal’s mind off of things as he climbed up after, still holding paws with the troll. 

“Yes. She simply said she wanted to see her sister, and then bounded off just like that. I can only hope poor Mymble isn’t being suffocated as we speak…” 

“Oh, don’t you worry. That girl is tough as nails. She may be my sister, but she was lucky enough to inherit the ‘powerhouse’ trait from my mother,” Snufkin laughed, speaking fondly of his two elder siblings. 

“I’m sure you’re right. Besides, they’re sisters! I’m sure they’ll manage.” 

“And what of Snorkmaiden?” Guilt pooled in Snufkin’s stomach when he asked this, for he knew exactly how selfish it was. The two rounded a corner, walking past a short hallway and reaching yet another set of stairs. 

“Her? Oh, she’s spending the day with Snork. They’ll be alright. Snorkmaiden is quite resourceful, you know, I wouldn’t be too worried.” 

“You speak rather fondly of her,” the Mumrik’s tone was soft, quiet with shame and sadness. “you still fancy her, right?”

“Well, not exactly. See, we had a whole chat--” Moomin led the two past another corner, reaching a little brown door that was already cracked halfway, the rain having made it swollen and difficult to close. “--and she explained to me that we were  _ wonderful  _ friends, but as lovers? We just had no chemistry. And besides, you see,” he pushed the door open with his free paw, leading them both into his room and clicking the door shut behind them, having to shove it a little. “I have someone I like much more than her.” With that, he gave Snufkin’s paw a squeeze, making direct eye contact for several seconds before relinquishing his grip and padding over to the bed.

Something about that entire interaction caused the Mumrik to go weak in the knees, though, of course, figuratively speaking. Solid and stoic, Snufkin. Solid and stoic. If you blow your cover you might just lose the best friend you’d ever made. 

“I think that in bed, the rain sounds so different,” Moomintroll spoke up from where he was, sitting on his mattress, comforter bunched up just below his feet where he had pushed it back. “it’s less scary, now.” 

“So you  _ were  _ scared, Moomintroll?” Snufkin couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

“Shut up…” The troll patted the space next to him with a soft paw, indicating that the Mumrik should join him. He gladly did, stepping over and beginning to crawl onto the plush sheets. “Ah-ah-ah!” Moomin scolded, grinning, a joke behind his eyes. The Mumrik sat, confused for a beat, before realizing. 

“Oh, right, right, sorry.” Snufkin rolled his eyes playfully, turning around and sitting on the edge of the bed, kicking his shoes off and letting them fall with a clatter to the creaky floor below. 

“And…?” 

“Oh, you are  _ quite  _ rigid, aren’t you? Might as well be Mrs. Fillyjonk,” off came the hat, as well, the tattered old thing being placed on the bedside table. The scarf soon followed, getting piled up in a big yellow heap around the rim. “better, your excellency?” Snufkin mocked, turning and grasping the hem of his green overcoat and giving a little curtsey. He was met with a pillow to the face.

He caught the object once the initial shock of suddenly being smacked died down, bundling it up in his arms and smiling at the picture painted before him. Moomintroll was sitting facing him on the bed, eyes closed and mouth curved up as he laughed, tail swishing from side to side happily. Oh, what a truly remarkable boy. Snufkin’s own tail was swaying, though it was never nearly as expressive as his friend’s. 

“Why, you--” he feigned annoyance, crawling onto the bed and sitting upright on his knees, raising the pillow over his head like a deadly weapon before bringing it down with a soft  _ pomf  _ on the troll’s snout, who laughed even harder. He brought his object of destruction back up, continuing to bap the giggling little beast over the head over with it until something collided with his waist, and he found himself losing balance. The pillow was relinquished as he fell back, Moomintroll pulling and pushing him in a pitiful attempt to maintain both of their balances until they both came tumbling down, Snufkin falling to his side on the mattress and his friend squeezing tight to his middle. Both were laughing far too hard to care of even acknowledge the fact that they were, as of now, practically snuggling. In fact, Moomintroll nuzzled his forehead to the Mumrik’s chest, arms squeezing his waist, and Snufkin instinctively brought his paw down to card through the soft white fur of his best friend’s head. Now, this was something neither expected, and the laughter and giddy atmosphere ceased almost instantly. Oh, Snufkin, you poor, poor, fool. You’ve ruined it! Reluctantly, he looked down at the troll, who had met him halfway and their eyes locked. To his surprise (and great relief) Moomintroll was smiling-- not awkwardly, not forced, just regular, plain old smiling. He gently wriggled away, relinquishing his grip on Snufkin and picking up the pillow he had dropped, holding it to his chest and sitting back.

“So,” he began excitedly, folding the pillow over and smoothing its top. Snufkin sat up as well, scooting over next to the troll, who instantly shifted to make both of them more comfortable. 

“So?” He replied, having expected a little more to come from his friend. 

“Well, that’s just it. There’s only so. I haven’t thought that far ahead, you see-- my brain feels like mush.” 

“That’s okay. You don’t always need to think, my dove,” Snufkin didn’t even  _ realize.  _ He was going with his words, because after all: he  _ definitely _ wasn’t thinking. 

“Ah! There it is again!” Moomintroll sprang upright, head whipping around to look at the Mumrik with intense eyes. “That nickname. I knew you had called me it earlier, but I wasn’t sure. But now I am,” he was all smiles, ears flapping. 

“I-- oh, I’m terribly sorry, Moomintroll, I hadn’t realized--” Snufkin’s face was hot, and he was sure steam was rising from his cheeks. 

“For what? I quite like the nickname,”

“...Do you?” 

“Yes, it’s cute! It makes me feel rather warm inside,”

“...Oh.” Was all the Mumrik could muster. Moomintroll stopped replying as well, instead just falling silent and fiddling with the cover of the pillow resting in his lap. Cute. The nickname, in Moomintroll’s opinion, was cute. This either meant that he liked it, or he was just thinking of a nice adjective as to not hurt the Vagabond’s feelings. 

Just as Snufkin was beginning to brood, a clap of thunder made Moomin yelp in utter surprise, attaching himself to his friend and quivering with fear. The pillow had been forgotten, and the poor troll was now just latched on to Snufkin, both arms hugging his waist and face nuzzled into his side. Gently, the Mumrik reached down to grasp the ends of the thick, feather-filled blanket, pulling it over both of them and sliding down so that he was now laying on his back next to the terrified creature. Moomintroll had made some adjustments as well, shimmying up to meet Snufkin’s movements, his arms now wrapped ‘round the Vagabond’s neck and snout pressed into his shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Snufkin. I look so silly right now, don’t I?” His tone was hushed, scared, embarrassed. 

“No, not at all, Moomintroll,” cautiously, the Mumrik shifted his body, so he was on his side and facing the beautiful Moomin, hand  _ daring  _ to cup a soft, fuzzy cheek. “in fact, I quite understand it. You don’t see it on the outside, but I’m actually really quite afraid of this storm. Storms always worry me. They excite me as well, but they still scare me. Honestly, I think if you weren’t by my side, I would be trembling.” He offered a weak smile and was rewarded with one of similar softness. 

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad I’m afraid with you.” 

Something about the way he said that-- about the way his eyes fluttered and his mouth quirked up and his expression softened-- melted the Mumrik’s heart, warming his whole body. The two were silent for a long while after that, just gazing at one another, eyes roaming faces that had already been mapped out, like the pages of an atlas, like the rough paper covered in tacks of where Moominpappa had been in his travels that hung on the study wall a few rooms over. For the umpteenth time, Snufkin wanted to kiss him. 

Idle conversation picked up again, though the two boys didn’t move their positions, and were, instead, staying close to one another, still holding tight, still practically bumping noses. The topic of their discussion went this way and that, from Snork’s flying ship to Sniff’s new business plan to the forest just south of Moominhouse that they both wanted to explore. It was just chatting, and it was perfect. The warmth, the comfort of another body, the rain outside as it hit the window, Moomintroll’s perfect little voice relaying a funny story about Little My pulling a quite harmless prank on Mymble and the Inspector. His paws had roamed to Snufkin’s sides, pulling him all the closer as he spoke, generally just cuddling him and offering all of the physical affection the typical Moomin would offer. Normally, Snufkin would  _ hate  _ this. He’d be scared and trapped and want to get  _ out,  _ but no. He was in far, far too deep, and he loved it. He was rooted to Moomintroll, and he was glad for that.

Suddenly, silence fell once more, and the little white troll had a curious expression painted over his face. 

“Snufkin,” he began, speaking slowly as if trying to carefully choose his words. 

“Yes?” 

“Can you do something for me?” 

“Of course.” The Vagabond’s heart began to beat faster, and he grew slightly anxious. His companion had just grown so…  _ serious  _ so quickly. 

“Could you please....” He turned away, ears pink and cheeks the same. “Could you call me that nickname again? I’d like to check something.” 

That nickname? He couldn’t possibly mean… But he did. He did mean it, and Snufkin could hardly breathe trying to force the pet name to squeeze from his lips. Now that he had an active and participating audience, it was much harder to let the word spill out from deep within him as it had many times before. 

“Do you mean… Do you mean  _ this  _ one, my dove?” He whispered.

“...I like that. Now, can you please just say the last part?” 

Now, Snufkin was confused. “Dove..?” He asked dumbly, arching his eyebrow, cocking his head as much as one can cock their head when lying on their side. 

“Alright, alright, okay. It’s good but… Hmm. Now just the first part.” 

“The first part? My?” 

“Yes. Can you say that and then my name?” 

Once more, the Mumrik blinked, unsure of where this was going. “My Moomintroll.” He said firmly. 

“The nickname once more!” 

“My dove?” Snufkin wasn’t entirely sure what the troll was playing at. “What on  _ earth  _ are you up t--” 

However, before he could say anything more, he felt a warm snout press against his nose. He blinked. Once, twice, three times, four. Then suddenly…

“I’m so sorry, Snufkin, but something about you calling me yours…  _ Yours,  _ Snufkin. I’m not sure, it just makes my heart feel amazing, and then you said my name and that sweet little nickname you gave me-- granted, I wanted you to say it, so I suppose that’s on me-- but you said it and oh, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

A kiss! A kiss, of course! That was how Moomins kissed; it was completely different from Mumriks or Mymbles, but exactly the same as Snorks and Hemulens. Yes, it was indeed a kiss, and the little troll had  _ meant  _ it. It wasn’t an accidental stumble that resulted in an accidental collision between noses, it wasn’t something indirect-- it was a real live kiss-- and Snufkin’s first at that. Kind of.

“Snufkin? Are you okay?” Moomintroll sounded extremely worried, which forced the Vagabond to snap out of his stupor. He was sure his face was flushed hot pink by now. His stomach had erupted with butterflies, and his heart did several flips. And he felt amazing. “It was awful, wasn’t it? It was my first kiss, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in the spot like that. I should have asked permission, first. Oh, please don’t be too upset…” 

“That was a wonderful kiss, my sweet dove,” strange how affectionate Snufkin’s voice could be; it never usually was. Moomintroll gasped out a delighted little  _ oh!,  _ smiling sweetly, ears burning. 

“I’m glad you thought so! I--ah-- I had a bit of trouble, though…” 

“Why?” 

“Your nose, Snufkin. Not that I don’t like it, it’s just not fit for kissing! It’s so… Small.” 

“Small?” The Mumrik laughed, smiling. 

“Yes! It’s very cute, Snufkin, but so-- how do I say this?-- Unfit for kissing. How on  _ earth  _ do you manage to kiss someone if your snout isn’t big enough to press correctly against theirs?” 

“That’s because a Moomin’s kiss and a Mumrik’s kiss are quite different. See, while Moomins, such as yourself, my dear troll, do  _ this,”  _ he leaned closer, tilting his head down so almost his entire face was covered by Moomintroll’s snout. The boy’s breath hitched, and he slowly let his paws trail up to cup Snufkin’s face. Snufkin put his whole heart into the kiss, wanting it to be as perfect as possible for the wonderful beast he was sharing it with. He pulled back, a bit flustered, hair sticking out at odd angles. “Mumriks do  _ this.”  _

Tenderly, Snufkin reached his jagged paw out to rest against the soft fluff of Moomintroll’s cheek, using his other hand to trail across his muzzle as he tilted the troll’s head up gently. He leaned closer, tilting his own head at a rather awkward angle, eyes fluttering closed in fear and anticipation and excitement all at once as he drew near. Ever so lightly, he pressed his lips to Moomintroll’s, earning a little gasp from the other. There was an awkward pause where neither of them did anything, just sat there, faces pressed against one another, but Moomin caught on and mimicked the action, kissing back the best he could. 

The first kiss, first  _ proper  _ kiss, by Mumrik standards, that Snufkin had ever had was absolutely… 

Hideous. 

The angle was awkward, and Snufkin’s beak-like nose kept bumping against the troll’s. Neither of them knew what to do with their paws, so they just ended up holding each other, eyes squeezed shut, mouths pressed together in the most graceless and sloppy kiss in all of history. However, when it was over, and both pulled apart all too soon, it seemed like the most ethereal, divine thing in the world. Moomintroll was flushed a beautiful peach, and Snufkin was sure his cheeks were redder than summer cherries. Their faces were practically glowing, not just with heat and dull lamplight, but with every soft emotion imaginable. The Mumrik had never imagined he’d kiss his best friend, but he  _ did  _ and it was  _ perfect  _ and he was going to ask to do it  _ again.  _

He didn’t need to. Moomintroll, determined to get the kiss absolutely perfect, tilted his head once more and kissed the boy. This time, however, joy seemed to bubble over, and a serious kiss turned into smatterings of light pecks and nuzzles on Snufkin’s cheeks and nose and forehead and shoulders. Even his paws, the paws that were so much rougher, so much more unpleasant than those attached to Moomintroll. 

Eventually, both of them ran out of breath, having laughed and kissed and grinned so hard that they faced exhaustion. 

“Oh, Snufkin…” Moomintroll hummed into his friend’s shoulder, arms wrapped around him, paws clutching the back of his jacket as though his very life depended on it. 

“My dove,” the Mumrik replied, burying his face in the sweet fur of the troll’s head, bringing a paw around to play with the cowlick on the back of Moomin’s neck. 

 

The lamp had been long ago turned off, and the night had worn on, early nighttime ebbing away to deep, rich midnight. The clouds were still bruised black and grey overhead, dumping buckets of rain onto the little valley below. It seeped into every meadow, filled the ponds, soaked everything right down to its very core. The earth was sodden and waterlogged now, flowers in little pools of water. The wind whipped hard at the shingles of little houses and the chill seeped its way into every single window, below every single doorstep, through every tiny attic hole, chilling even the warmest of creatures to the bone. 

However, in one house, in one room, in one bed, a pair of best friends-- of  _ lovers--  _ lay still, warm and close and completely comfortable, even in the raging storm outside.

“I do believe, all on accident, that I’ve fallen quite in love with you,” Snufkin breathed, almost inaudibly, as though afraid that if he spoke too loudly, something would shatter.

“And  _ I’m  _ afraid to say that I, too, have fallen for you,” Moomintroll’s soft reply sent a shiver down the Mumrik’s spine, and he held his companion closer, harder, warmer. 

Just like that, the two drifted off into the most peaceful slumber either has ever had, dreaming in pastels and forget-me-nots. Tomorrow, they would wake and explore the newly risen waters, perhaps hunt for fireflies and frogs and worms and tadpoles skipping about amongst the puddles, explore the forest and see what the rain brought forth. But for now, they just rested, holding on tight to one another, the softness in their hearts being enveloped in warmth from the feather-based comforter and wrapped up in each other’s chests.

**Author's Note:**

> listen i cant really explain myself please dont make fun of me ggghghfij


End file.
